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This is why I shouldn’t be allowed to meet celebrities

June 27, 2012

Most days, I consider myself to be composed, well-spoken and respectful of other people’s boundaries. I’m by no means the sort of care-free, confident person who wanders through fields of wildflowers wearing white linen pants during her period — or ever — but, you know, I get by.

But all those traits go into hiding like a celebrity after botched Botox when I’m in the presence of someone famous.

My mind goes blank, rendering useless all the time spent rehearsing and talking emphatically into bathroom mirrors, committing to memory how I’ll flatter yet impress the object of my admiration with the right balance of reverence and repartee. I lose control of my limbs, my movements becoming forced and stilted, as if I were drunk-dancing the robot. And like the love child of Dustin Hoffman as an autistic savant in “Rain Man” and a stammering Colin Firth in “The King’s Speech,” non sequiturs and mangled sounds bypass my internal filter and spew forth toward a traumatized target.

After what amounts to a hit-and-run, I relive the interactions ad nauseum, torturing myself for not being able to even momentarily feign coolness. My top three most awkward celebrity interactions are as follows:

3. NORAH JONES, 2007

I’d been milling for more than an hour late at night in the drizzling rain with a hood pulled menacingly over my head next to Norah Jones’ tour bus. Which was parked in an abandoned alley. And I was the only one there.

What I’m saying is, if I were Norah Jones, I would have been scared of me.

There was no way of getting out of this situation without coming across as a crazed stalker with excellent taste in music. Well, I could have just gone home. But posters don’t sign themselves.

Signed under duress.

Eventually emerging from the stage door with a few of her bandmates, Norah approached me, said hello, and was lovely and gracious and thin and prettier in person. That bitch. She then motioned to my poster. And that’s when I realized I didn’t have a pen.

“I thought for sure there’d be other fans in line with Sharpies dying to meet you,” I said, inadvertently insulting her by drawing to her attention the fact that no one else was there. Smooth.

Dispatched to fetch a pen, her manager left Norah Jones alone with dodgy me in a dark alley in a rainstorm. For about 10 painful-for-her minutes, she listened as I jabbered nervously about the only topics I could think of on the fly: my job, sucking at piano lessons as a kid and … the weather. Silence probably would have been a better way to go.


In a bid to meet Emily Saliers and Amy Ray, I waited with a few dozen other fans, amusing myself by eavesdropping on nearby nervous chatter. “Emily looks like she’s lost weight,” observed one. “I heard she’s dating a supermodel,” commented another. I stood there in silent judgment, confident that I was much calmer and collected than these losers. Plus, I’d already settled on what I’d say to Emily, my favorite of the duo: “You make life a little sweeter.” Simple, genuine, not in the least bit grounds for a restraining order.

What I hadn’t counted on was Amy coming out first. She put her arm around me, we smiled for a photo and then I blurted, “You ma-KE li-fe a LITT-le swee-TER,” accenting the wrong syllables and sounding like a stroke victim. Concealing her consternation, she thanked me, said something about the fans making it all worthwhile and continued on.

Also signed under duress.

Emily was trailing right behind, and I was suddenly overcome with worry that she’d overheard what I’d told Amy. As a lesbian, this is something I don’t often say, but I’d blown my load too soon. I was without a Plan B, something else I’m unaccustomed to saying as a lesbian.

I stood there starstruck, unable to string a sentence together. When Emily, still damp from performing, pulled me close to mug for the camera, she remarked, “Sorry I’m so sweaty.”

Here was my big moment — my chance to thank her for writing music that would make my ears jump for joy if they had legs. “That’s OK,” I stuttered. “That’s … how I like it.”

Yes, I effectively told one-half of the Indigo Girls that I like a woman who perspires or has a gland problem.


So many Lawsbians had shown up for her tour stop at Brookline Booksmith that although Jenny was doing a reading on the lower level, the closest I could get was listening through speakers upstairs. But my tardiness was rewarded as bloggy babes Cameron and Marian and I were positioned close to the front of the signing line, as that portion was upstairs so suck it hard, on-time downstairs people.

I’d corresponded with Jenny before, so I thought maybe I’d get through this celebrity sighting unscathed. Also, I had brought her a present, so even if I forgot the script I’d learned like a Chinese Olympian memorizing a routine for fear of shaming her family on the world’s stage, the gift would at least give us fodder. She once blogged about her fabulously taxidermied pirate alligator Jean-Louis who is missing a hand; on eBay, I found an alligator hand that had been made into a back scratcher. Synergy, I thought.

As I was about to launch into a prepared speech, she disarmed me with a compliment. “I love your hair!” Jenny squeaked. Or maybe she said, “Your hair is awesome!” I don’t really remember. For all I know, she could have said, “Your hair is on fire and made of snakes!” That fact that she was addressing me at all was the verbal equivalent of being zapped by a mind-eraser in “Men In Black”. I was done.

As she signed my books, I hovered awkwardly over her right shoulder. The back scratcher, which she’d accepted with glee and placed beside her, seemed to call to me. As follows is my thought process in italics, and what I actually did in bold:

Do not pick up the back scratcher.

I picked up the back scratcher.

Put down the back scratcher. Just no.

I moved the back scratcher toward Jenny’s arm.

Do not under any circumstances touch Jenny with the back scratcher.

I slowly ran the back scratcher up and down her arm.

OK, wow. This is happening. You’re scratching Jenny’s arm with the hand of a dead alligator. Seriously, stop.

I increased the speed and intensity of the scratching.

It’s not too late … is the name of the third album by Norah Jones, whom you once frightened and practically held hostage in an alley. It’s *totally* too late for you now.

Continuing to stroke her, I commented to the New York Times bestselling author whom I was assaulting, “See, this alligator hand is a surprisingly great scratcher!”

Did I congratulate Jenny Lawson on her much-deserved success, tell her how flattered I was to be mentioned in her memoir or thank her for being born? No. No I did not. I exfoliated her upper arm.

Someone please remind me of these mortifying moments when I’m itching to meet another celebrity.

Henceforth I hope Jenny wields this alligator claw back scratcher like a creepy yet awesome wand. And that she doesn’t press charges.

P.S. Please forgive me for dropping off the interwebs as I recover from today’s ass surgery. I’m not really sure how long I’ll be gone, but your well wishes have meant a lot to me. I’ll still be obsessively checking email and Twitter because I’m having my coccyx cut out of my ass, not my iPhone surgically removed from my hand. I would love it if you left a comment here telling me about one of your embarrassing celebrity run-ins, which will totally make me feel better while I’m in the hospital. Well, that *and* the opiates.

63 Comments leave one →
  1. June 27, 2012 2:38 AM

    When I met Jenny, I completely forgot everything I wanted to say as well. So I blurted out “I am so excited and nervous and terrified to be here”. But she’s awesome because she just said “Me too. We’re twins” and didn’t seem to mind how weird I was at all. Then my husband told her his zombie weapon of choice is a spear, and she agreed it’s best to keep them at bay, and then I told her alarmed-looking posse that we’re not really terrifying at all, and then I slunk away in a highly-unterrifying manner because I don’t think they believed me.

  2. June 27, 2012 3:36 AM

    Once when I was in college, my mom sent me a big box of homemade fudge shortly before Christmas vacation. I got out a pen and a piece of paper and made everyone who took a piece write something to my mom, and then I took the collected notes (it wound up being several pages) with me on the flight home.

    The flight had a stop in New York or Chicago or somewhere. We were delayed on the ground in the connecting city for an hour or two, during which time they didn’t let us off the plane (but they did give us free lukewarm tapwater, so yay!). In an attempt to prevent the passengers from rioting, the flight crew announced that Larry Hagman was on the plane, and anyone who wanted an autograph could come up to First Class and get one.

    At the time, my mom was a huge fan of Dallas, so I decided I’d have him sign my fudge note thingy and let her discover the autograph among all the stuff my friends had written. He was as drunk as a person can possibly be without losing consciousness, so the questions running through my mind while waiting in line were: how can I explain this without confusing him? Will he be able to spell my mom’s name? If he passes out on my notes, how can I get them back?

    He actually wound up writing something semi-coherent. My mom was thrilled.

  3. June 27, 2012 5:05 AM

    I’ve only ever met one celebrity, but it was pretty awful. I met Chris Morris who wrote and directed the film Four Lions (not sure if it ever came out in the US). My friend and I (somehow) got tickets to see the film which Chris Morris was presenting and doing a Q&A session with the audience afterwards. When we left, we decided to wait outside the picturehouse to get autographs. We were waiting with this slightly crazy girl who demanded that Chris Morris signed her arm in marker pen and literally leapt up in front of him when he finally emerged from the picturehouse.

    I held my ticket out, as my friend was having hers signed, the PR woman standing next to Chris Morris bellowed (directly at me) “CHRIS WON’T BE SIGNING ANY MORE AUTOGRAPHS” and I slowly withdrew my ticket.

    Aside from my friend and crazy-leaping girl, I was the only other person there. I kind of took it personally.

    Hope you feel better soon xx

  4. Fusion permalink
    June 27, 2012 6:33 AM

    Cactus Supply…I will never forget them.

    My dad was in the military and we were stationed in Texas. For our first family vacation the parents decided to we’d travel north to Albuquerque to stay at the Holiday Inn for 3 glorious days.

    We checked in and my mom, who had been wandering around the lobby told me in a hushed tone, “I think I just ran into Run DMC.”

    I rolled my worldly eyes and told her flat out “why would they be here?!?!”

    I then stomped over to an announcement board of the hotel and found a band named “Cactus Supply” which I informed my mom was who she actually saw.

    The next morning my mom and I stomped down to the gift store to occupy ourselves while my dad and sister played in the pool. I turned to tell my mom something and sure enough, turned around there stood all 3 members of Run DMC.

    My mom, standing nearby stated loudly, in a rather mocking tone “So this is Cactus Supply?!?!”

    I think one of the members smirked…I stood there…and stood there some more….because what else is one supposed to do.

  5. June 27, 2012 7:24 AM

    I’ve lived in New York for 25+ years and I STILL like spotting celebs. There’s nothing like it. I’m married to a relation of Bruce Springsteen and met him several times. I’ve seen people have mini-aneurysms in his presence. It’s creepy. Fame is a raw deal. That dude can’t even go to the movies. I would love untold wealth, but you can have fame. Ick.

    Off topic…did I just read in someone’s comment box that you’re from Cleveland? Me too! See…I detected a certain quality about you but I couldn’t put my thumb on it. Presto! You’re a Buckeye! East or West side? I hope your ass gets better and sweeter.

  6. June 27, 2012 7:40 AM

    Well your hair did look awesome 🙂
    Good luck with the coccyx cut out of your ass situation.

    PS: I laughed so hard with this one [Here was my big moment — my chance to thank her for writing music that would make my ears jump for joy if they had legs. “That’s OK,” I stuttered. “That’s … how I like it.”] I almost fell off my chair 😀

    PS2: I’m downloading The King’s speech right this minute, thanks for the reminder


  7. June 27, 2012 8:49 AM

    Get well soon. Here’s my celebrity story to make you feel better. In 1991, I lived in Italy. Florence to be specific. I had a boyfriend at the time that was really into cars and I was photographing the Ferrari exhibit going on at an ancient fortress outside the city. It was a Wednesday and almost no one was there. There was a guy in front of me the whole way that kept getting into all my pictures and I wanted him to move so I could get a picture of a totally sweet yellow Dino with the Duomo behind it. He was oblivious to my distress. So of course I decided to politely ask him to move. Since he could be from anywhere, I asked first in Italian if he spoke Italian. His response was clear American English and I said “Oh you’re an American” and then went on to ask him to move out of the picture politely. He looked at me very oddly. At the time,I thought, Wow, this man looks a lot like Sylvester Stallone. But then I was all like – no, it’s the middle of the week outside of Florence Italy and he has no entourage. He moved and then I got my picture and he made sure to stay out of the way through the rest of the exhibit. The next day, the local paper (La Stampa) noted that Stallone was in town. There you have it. I told Stallone to get out of a picture.

  8. June 27, 2012 10:50 AM

    I “met” Rick Springfield. And I have the pictures to prove it. I gave him a swag bag of Motherhoot paraphernalia–including a photoshopped picture of us together. I’m wearing my tiara. I imagine all that stuff got pitched into the trash the minute the signing was over. And he still hasn’t followed me on Twitter. Damn it!

    But my weirdest encounter was long ago and far away when the members of Mamas Boys wanted to sign my chest. I politely declined and moved my then-amazing rack away from their Sharpies…

    Good luck with the ass surgery! Enjoy the drugs! Do you get to keep the extra piece of you in a jar at home?!

    • Jessica permalink
      June 27, 2012 5:28 PM

      Ooooh! if you do, send THAT to the Bloggess! THAT she would LOVE! You’d probably get a spot on the bookshelf, eh?

  9. June 27, 2012 11:52 AM

    but you had no trouble at all, no loss for words or apparent shyness of any kind, upon meeting the VERY FAMOUS ME. not sure what to think about this, to tell the truth.

    i have the same affliction. i have run away from Diane DiMassa several times, fearing i’d faint if i actually had to speak with her or even look directly at her. and i waited in line once for hours, or at least the better part of an hour, to get Melissa Ferrick to sign a poster, which i shoved at her, grunting, huh, hnnn hnnn. my friends all died laughing. i’m the one with “on the importance of using your words” as my damn byline. sigh.

  10. Jen permalink
    June 27, 2012 12:01 PM

    OK, mine aren’t nearly as entertaining as some, but… I met Rebecca Lobo outside of the Garden in NYC. (What you have to realize here is that I played ball in college, and was in awe of her when she was at UConn; at the time I met her she was playing for the Liberty in the WNBA). Despite having both a pen and a camera in my bag, I walked away with nothing more than a “Nice to meet you.” I believe I stuttered something about being a big fan.
    The more recent one was when I met John Slattery at the Garden (the Boston version this time) before a playoff game last winter. I’m sure the only reason I was even able to walk up to him, ask if he was indeed John Slattery and babble something about loving Mad Men was the fact that I had a pretty darn good buzz going. At least this time I managed to get a (distant and blurry) cell phone photo. Just of him, obviously, since I was behind the lens.

  11. June 27, 2012 1:36 PM

    First, somewhere along the way I missed that you are having surgery!!! Hoping all goes well!

    You had me in hysterics over this. A couple of years ago I was going to meet (stalk) my “girl crush”, Rachael Ray at a book store here in Michigan (the now defunct Borders)

    Earlier that day I endured freezing temps, a looooong line and the god awful hour of 5am to get a WRIST BAND to see her that night.

    That evening my husband and I stood in a snaking line that was ridiculous. I spent the entire time telling my normally quiet and reserved husband to please not embarrass himself when he gets up to meet Rachael and think of something “witty” to say.

    I should have said that to myself. I am normally outgoing, vibrant, full of clever repartee (or so I think so lol)….NOT when I met Rachael Ray. When I approached my mind went blank, I was tongue-tied. All I could muster was ‘RACHAEL RAY” in the most idiotic tone you have ever heard.

    The scene was reminiscent of “A Christmas Story” where the elf kicks Ralphie down the slide with his foot because he couldn’t tell Santa what he wanted for Christmas. The Borders people kindly pushed (shoved) me away (which could be why they are no longer in business) and herded me away from Rachael.

    My husband who has never cooked in his life? He was happily chatting away with Rachael, he actually was making sense and was engaging. So much so that she looked up at him and engaged in a conversation with him.

    Go figure

  12. June 27, 2012 2:36 PM

    I’ve mostly only met famous authors, which we know exist in a much different type of fame than actors/musicians, but that doesn’t stop me from making a complete ass of myself every time regardless.

    But whenever I think about seeing a celebrity in person, I always think back to the summer I was about 14, when my friend and I were at an amusement park and thought we saw Puck from the Real World. You heard me. Puck. Real World. We started chasing him all over the park, trying to keep up and confirm it was really him. Now, it’s not like we were that into the Real World or Puck, but we were 14 and our brains dissolved at the mere thought of bumping into someone we had seen on TV.

    So anyway, we ran and chased and kept losing him but getting close…all until my friend bent over and started vomiting up all the strawberries we’d just eaten. Strawberry puke everywhere and we had to stop our chase. I was so disappointed. And in retrospect, it probably wasn’t even him.

  13. June 27, 2012 2:59 PM

    If a celebrity would stand in front of me I would be oblivious (this has happened a few times). I totally ignore them or I think I might recognize then from somewhere… maybe work. Then I have to figure out if I ever liked this person who reminds me of someone and then I just come across as a total weirdo with a puzzled look on my face.

    Hope the recovery goes well. Make sure the opiates treat you well.

  14. June 27, 2012 3:02 PM

    Love the picture of you and Jenny. Good luck with your surgery. I hope you have ass comfortness back really soon!

  15. June 27, 2012 3:47 PM

    I had training in New Orleans to ignore celebrities at all costs, to the point of imagining their invisibility. This means that they vanish entirely from my vision. It should be no wonder, then, that one day this guy came into the gallery where I was working at the time. He kept asking questions, and I kept giving short, terse answers, and barely made my way through the sale.

    Feeling bad, I called, “Have a nice time in New Orleans!” as he walked out, and he glanced over his shoulder and smiled. It was Othello himself, Lawrence Fishburn. And I was rude to him for 15 minutes straight. Awesome.

  16. June 27, 2012 5:04 PM

    I hope you’re enjoying our celebrity meeting accounts. Here’s my most memorable ones: I was in high school and went to Broadway to see “They’re Playing Our Song” with a class. Stockard Channing was playing the female lead. After the show, we were standing around outside and noticed that many of our class were gone. We went back inside to find Stockard was on stage talking about theater to a small group (including half of my class who weren’t supposed to be there). After her talk, she signed autographs for the ~40 kids gathered. When she signed my Playbill, I said: You need a Xerox machine to keep up. She laughed politely and said “A stamp, at least.” I love Stockard Channing who laughed at my joke.

    Last year (or was it 2 years ago or maybe 10? Don’t get old), my lady love & I traipsed up to NYC to see Helen Hunt in and off-Broadway production of “Our Town.” She played the stage manager. Helen “randomly” distributed cards to audience members to read aloud, asking questions of the newspaper editor or mayor whatever. She was about to hand one to my spouse (who has a huge fear of public speaking), but saw the dread fear in her eye and just slid that card over to me. I was brilliant. And after the show was over, we stole the water bottle she’d been drinking from during the show. It’s not that bad – it was just a bottle of water, not reusable. We keep it next to P!nk’s water bottle, which we stole in Boston. Ah, P!nk.

    Lastly (there have been others, but surely with the opiates, you’ll have been asleep long before getting to this one), I was walking down a fairly deserted street in New Orleans with co-workers on a break from a conference. Approaching us on the side walk came Linda Hamilton. My co-workers were clueless (and not lesbians). My heart raced as I said, in my best Joey impersonation (no, I don’t know why): “how YOU doin’.” Stupid or not, she gave me a huge smile and said “Great, thanks” and we both kept walking. OK, she kept walking, I glided about 6 inches off the ground. When I told my co-workers who it was, they just stared after her. Ah…

    And so I hope this finds you drugged to the nines and not assless just extra-coccyx-less. All your fans are considering a collection to buy you assless chaps, but that’s so not a lesbian thing to do. And besides, you’re still going to have an ass. HOpefully one that’s not such a pain in the…

    Please keep us posted when you can.

  17. Jessica permalink
    June 27, 2012 5:35 PM

    Ok,first, I recently fell on my tailbone. So, I totally thought of you as I hit the ground holding my end of a sheet of drywall, and was so grateful I didn’t crack it that I almost wept. Hope you feel real better, real soon.

    Anyway I was about to leave on a trip to Denver when it happened (4 hr flight), and so I spent a month on vicodin.

    Realize that 1) you will get a migraine if the dose is too strong for you (break them in half) and 2) you will grow to be dependent on them, and will feel like the sun has gone behind clouds for the first day or two after you stop taking them. Just wean yourself off of them even if the pain is not as bad, or resolve yourself to writing poetry that will make your middle school journal look like the work of a genius.

    ps that relationship thing you were so kind about did not exactly straiten itself out, but has definitely improved. Also you are awesome, and your hair DOES look fabulous.

  18. June 27, 2012 6:28 PM

    Through a weird accident in birth dates, I was able to be in 4-H for much longer than most people. So I was an adult my final year. I was helping the younger kids in the lemonade stand at our county fair when this good looking guy flirted with me. We ended up making out behind the livestock barn.

    Later, I met up with my friends and we went to the Blessid Union of Souls concert. And, wouldn’t you know, there was that guy up there on the stage. And he was NOT in the backup band.

    Who does that? Why didn’t he tell me he was famous? Was he assuming I’d recognize him? I’m pretty sure he got a big kick out of my jaw bouncing on the ground…

    • June 27, 2012 6:45 PM

      Good on you! I’m 46 years old and married, and I still hope to make out with a rock star someday! I will…I know I will…Rick?! Rick Springfield?!

  19. June 27, 2012 6:28 PM

    OH! And good luck with your ass surgery. I’m off to follow you on the Twitter right now.

  20. June 27, 2012 8:04 PM

    Have you heard/seen Tig Notaro’s encounter with Taylor Dane?

  21. June 27, 2012 11:08 PM

    I once sold Kevin Nealon’s wife a study guide. Yeah, I got nothing.
    I thought of you the other day, and your ass issues, because I was having my own. That’s not creepy, is it? Yeah, it kind of is. *sigh*

  22. June 28, 2012 7:15 AM

    but she’s smiling in the picture! perhaps hoping for more taxidermy in the future…. she’s all in, you know…

    i sat next to Kirk Douglas in the San Fran airport for 30 minutes. me reading a book, him reading a magazine. for 30 quiet minutes, i could not think of a single thing to say to him that would have been any better than “hey, man. you’re like, KIRK DOUGLAS. i love your shit, man. love your shit. can you sign my um… arm or something?”

  23. June 28, 2012 7:25 AM

    How’s your ass?

    Wow, that was an amazing comment opener.


    Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?

    Indigo Girls = BIG LESBIAN LOVE.

  24. June 28, 2012 8:03 AM

    I froze up when I meet Jenny, too. I bet celebrities are used to it. I’m sure they understand because they did the same thing once because they weren’t always celebrities. At least that’s what I tell myelf to get me through the awkward moments.

  25. June 28, 2012 10:38 AM

    I was once eating dinner in a Boston brewery and the waitress was all gushy and said “That’s Matt Damon sitting at that table over there”. I looked over, didn’t recognize anyone, looked back and said “Who’s Matt Damon?”. The next weekend I saw my favorite movie of all time Good Will Hunting and the words “who’s Matt Damon?” have haunted me ever since.

  26. June 28, 2012 3:08 PM

    ::she called me a babe::

    And then I died of blushing. She totally loved your hair. I was there. I heard it. And I saw all those people craning their necks to see who the girl who had Lawsbian RAPPORT was.

    Rock that taxidermied alligator foot, girl.

    And I hope your ass heals properly.

    God, I love the internet.

  27. June 28, 2012 4:48 PM

    I’m sending you, your ass, and your glorious hair many, many good thoughts.

    Because I am still dying from reading about your adventures.

  28. June 28, 2012 10:06 PM

    Fourteen years ago I was a cog in the corporate machine at ABC News here in NYC. My then significant other, an extremely Type A impatient and jealous type, was waiting for me at a nearby watering hole. I had a tough time getting out of work because the relief for my shift was late and I could not leave until that doofus appeared. This was also before cell phones were common so I had no way to contact her. I knew I was going to be late and she, pissed. Finally, I’m cut loose and as I’m racing out of the building via a back door-type of entrance, Diane Sawyer is entering. She was standing in what looked like a cloud of vapor for she had just significantly spritzed herself with perfume. She’s aware of this and as I’m speeding past her, she spritzes me — and giggles — like “we girls” now have a shared secret! Tee hee! I’m thinking. “Fuck! You bitch, you just ruined my life! My girlfriend’s gonna smell this and ditch me!” Of course, this is Diane Fuck My Life Sawyer so I have to act charmed when all I want to do at that surreal moment is beat her with a bat.

    I arrive at the watering hole reeking of Diane Sawyer’s fragrance — if memory serves correct it was What the Fuck by Chanel. My gf whiffs it and coincidentally observes, “What the fuck?!” I squeal in my highest pitched scared rabbit tone, “I swear on my ailing mother that Diane Sawyer just spritzed me with her fragrance as I was running out the door. I don’t know why the hell she did that. I know I’m late and I want to kill her!” My insanely jealous gf looked at me with the Larry David eyeball, assessing the validity of my tale. Finally, she spoke, “That’s so ridiculous it must be true.”

    I hope your ass is out of the sling soon.

  29. June 30, 2012 4:49 PM

    Should we ever meet in person, you will know it’s me because I will have a hoodie on, and will tell you how I wish you were sweatier so I could scratch that with this alligator hand I’m carrying. While asking for a sharpie.

    And it will be raining.

    PS Shannon Elizabeth almost hit me with her car once in a garage. She drove away too fast for me to say anything.

  30. July 1, 2012 8:55 PM

    I think meeting Jenny would make me more nervous than meeting the president. I don’t know why, I just would be. I really wanted to see her at the Booksmith but I suppose it’s for the best I couldn’t go because I wouldn’t have been able to compete with your present.

  31. July 2, 2012 12:00 PM

    Good luck with the surgery. Is it too late to ask for a bionic butt? That would totally kick ass.

  32. July 3, 2012 1:39 AM

    I have never been good at small talk & recently at a party, my opening conversation with the gorgeous Anna Go-go, dance teacher, comedian and all round ray of sunshine, I immediately launch into a discussion of Greek financial crisis and its prescience in Christos Tsoilkas’ Dead Europe and the depraved scenes of live sex shows with minors that he writes about. Way to bring everyone down- aaarrrgg :-/

  33. July 5, 2012 1:51 PM

    Loving your blog — I knew by the title I would. While I’m not a cat person, I tend to love “cat people”…. anyway, I am similarly (is that a word?) awkward when it comes to meeting people, namely celebrities. at 2am one night meeting Paula Abdul as she walked through the doors of the hotel I worked at…my first words were “hello…you look….uh…tired.” needless to say, we didn’t hit it off. Looking forward to reading more from you — hope the butt surgery went well 🙂

  34. July 5, 2012 6:03 PM

    I’ve actually never met a celebrity. We don’t have many come through nowheresville Ontario…. Does that make me more of a loser if I haven’t even had the chance to embarrass myself in front of one??

  35. July 9, 2012 12:17 PM

    My BFF from high school’s sister is dating one of the Indigo Girls! I’m pretty sure that makes you and I related.

    Or not…?

    Lawsbians is the best term ever. Also, I can’t wait for the day I stand in line to scratch your arm.

  36. Rhonda McMullin permalink
    July 11, 2012 6:45 AM

    I was in the Stratosphere in Las Vegas, in the mall on the second floor. I saw a guy that I thought I went to high school with, and I saw him see me seeing him, if that makes sense, and he smiled one of those big, insincere, “I think I recognize you recognizing me” kinda smiles. At least, I thought that’s what it was. So, I think, “Crap! He recognizes me and I don’t recognize him. I have to say ‘Hi’ or look like a jerk!” As he walks right by me, he looks at me, and I put my hand on his arm and said, “Hi! How are you! It’s been a long time!” He looks confused and says, “Yeah, it has!” “How are you?” I said. “Good.” He says. I introduce him to my husband and kids, and he’s very gracious, but I still don’t figure out what guy from high school he was, because I can’t think up how to ask him who he is after this conversation has gone on so long! Eventually, the conversation peters out and we go on our way.

    It wasn’t until I saw Christine Lahti that I realized they were shooting “Chicago Hope” downstairs in the casino. I had just assaulted and wasted the time of Rocky Carroll, now of NCIS fame.

    I spent the rest of the day alternately wishing I would run into him again (I’m sure he would have run the other way if he’d seen me) so I could explain that I just thought I knew him from high school, and being glad I didn’t run into him so I didn’t have to explain that he clearly wasn’t famous enough for me to know who he is on sight.

    Mortification does not begin to describe how I feel every time I think of how long we held him up! Thank you for letting me get that off my chest after all these years…

  37. July 13, 2012 12:29 AM

    Firstly, I can’t believe I missed wishing you well before the ass surgery began. Been there, done that, I hope by now the pain isn’t still obscenely horrible. I hope it’s just really bad.
    Secondly, my experiences with celebrities can be summed up by something my husband said to me the most recent time I was standing next to someone known by millions: “You really just don’t excited about famous people, do you?”
    But I still have a decent story for you.
    I was at a charity event in NYC, a ball – if you will, and I was STARVING. I’m not one to skip a meal, and they had been dilly-dallying with the grub, bub. I was trying to be polite as our group of husband’s work associates moved into the banquet room, and when I got a chance to excuse myself, I made a mad dash for the towering cheese/cracker/fruit display.
    Some weasly little dude was standing in my way, and since I had about 6″ on the guy and a hunger that could kill a thousand lions, I discreetly did the elbow-shove to clear him away from the food I was trying to grab.
    He only stumbled the tiniest bit, but it’s not like he FELL or anything, and he seemed quite surprised so I was able to swoop in for my food to pile high on a way-too-small plate.
    I turned to head back to husband, shoving food in my face, only to see him and others staring at me.
    “What?” WHAT? I’m HUNGRY.” I say.
    “Do you realize who you just shoved away from the cheese?”
    I took another bite, turned, saw the guy whose face has been on TV more times than I could even guess.
    “Umm…you mean my old buddy Mike?”
    Husband just shook his head, because the guy I shoved out of the way was the person who was throwing that charitable ball in the first place, and would soon give up his job at his huge namesake company to become the mayor of New York.
    But…c’mon. Dude was TOTALLY blocking the cheese tray.

  38. July 14, 2012 10:39 PM

    OMG–I so love the Indigo Girls! Saw them in concert last year, Didn’t embarrass myself by meeting them (IF ONLY). Adore them almost enough to change teams.

    And I totally humiliated myself meeting Jenny Lawson last month. Had a long, confused conversation with her at a book signing about a message I’d sent her on Twitter, only to have her reply three days later that she hadn’t received it until then. She was polite enough to not make me feel like the idiot I was–until I realized I truly was an idiot. *sigh*

  39. July 19, 2012 7:23 PM

    Sadly I have yet to meet any celebrities, but top of my wish-list is The Bloggess! I’ll bet you Jenny had no issues with the impromptue Alligator groping, she seems like she’d be really cool about those kind of things!!

  40. August 9, 2012 9:24 AM

    Love Ms. Jenny but I always feel it would be better if her book signings were in the bathroom. It just seems more like her to be there.

  41. August 21, 2012 6:52 PM

    I havent had any celebrities run ins, unfortunately, at least no american or british celebrities.
    but I think I would be worse than you were, believe me!

    I actually had some run ins with brazilian celebrities, though.

    here is a picture of me with one of them:

    it was in the airplane from Manaus, Amazon where I used to live to Rio de Janeiro where I was visiting family. And I took a picture only because I had forgotten his name and wanted to tell my sister I was in the same flight as him…
    when I showed her the picture, she told me I looked more like a celebrity than him n the picture. I was flattered!

    one of the other times was when already living in Germany and went to visit family in Brazil I was sharing a seat with one celebrity and asked if he was my ex law teacher. I swear he looked totaly like him! haha

    and behind us there were 3 other celebrities. while talking about my city they asked me what to do in there, I recommended them restaurants and so forth. normal plane talk…

    but around the end of the trip i heard them gossiping about other celebrities, like they were close friends. of course they were, duh!

    I guess the part I am embaressed about is I didnt recognize them sooner, not even when they told me I should totally go to their play in the city! But maybe that made me look like a normal person fr the most part of the flight, instead of trying to impress them for all of 4 hours!

  42. September 9, 2012 6:13 PM

    BAHHAHAHA that is fantastically awesome. I’m sure I’d have some stories if I ever met any famous people.

  43. September 12, 2012 7:52 AM

    Soooooo…it’s been, you know, like forever since you posted. Soooooo…you should, you know, post.

    • September 22, 2012 3:04 AM

      Yeah. I seem to have retired. Maybe.

      • vespa permalink
        September 30, 2012 6:13 AM


      • October 16, 2012 12:27 PM

        I think you need to pull a Brett Favre and unretire.

      • October 26, 2012 4:35 PM

        I’m pretty sure that’d make me cry.

        Just sayin’.

      • Lily permalink
        November 30, 2012 10:21 AM


        I just stumbled across your blog and read every single post you ever wrote all in one night. (In case you’re wondering my search was “oh my glob, google, I think I might be a lesbian” – nothing to do with animal pron – and yes I was talking to google.) This is going to sound weird, but ever since I was really little I’ve been convinced I was supposed to have a twin sister (apparently when I was two and my mom told me I was getting a baby sister I was really really happy until she was born and turned out to at which point I bit her on the arm as hard as I could and had to go to a child psychologist). So anyways, I think you might be my twin. Here are just some of the ways in which we are exactly the same person:
        1. Really smart, but mainly with words which is not as useful as you might think, and any benefit is almost completely negated by…
        2. Insanely awkward – socially and physically (twofer!)
        3. Mildly sarcastic
        4. Own a cat (I also have two dogs, but it’s ok because they think they’re cats – because I made them that way. I had the cat for 17 years before they came along and apparently was incapable of remembering to treat them differently. One of them even purrs now, I swear)
        5. Have damaged tailbones (I once ran inside in terror of being killed during a freak hail storm in the middle of the summer, and slipped on all the hail balls that came in with me and fell flat on my ass on a tile floor) (I think they may be called hail “stones”, upon further reflection, but am’t sure enough to correct it) (am’t should be a word, and obviously is a contraction of “am not”, because “aren’t” sometimes doesn’t feel right, and “I’m not” is just too long, uknowwhatimean?)
        6. Spend a lot of time and energy on completely useless endeavors in hopes of making friends (I realized after writing most of this that your last comment was several months ago and you will most likely never read this)

        I could have gone on and on about how I also think animals wearing baby clothes is awesome, and actual babies are gross. And about how I also think grammar mistakes must. be. corrected. no matter what (such as starting a sentence with “and”), but as I said above, you will most likely never read this anyways. I guess I will have to keep searching for my twin, but thank you for your blog, which gave me hope that she is out there.

        Your most belated fan,

        P.S. Since this was technically supposed to be a comment about meeting celebrities… I once met Brad Garrett (and his kids) from Everybody Loves Raymond at the mall, but didn’t realize it until after they had already walked away and the person I was with said “you have no idea who that was, do you”. Notice it wasn’t a question. (I once failed to recognize my own sister, and told her “no thanks I’m meeting my sister” when she asked if I wanted to sit down at her table at the restaurant I invited her to.) Apparently I told Brad Garrett’s daughter that the shocking pink, rhinestone bedazzled cell phone case she wanted to buy from the mall kiosk was “a bit much”. And no, she hadn’t asked for my opinion. I’m just really generous like that. Also, now every time I flip past a channel showing reruns of that show I *always* say “remember when we saw that guy at the mall?”. And I mean, every.single.time. because I too was born without a short term memory… or a twin : (

      • November 30, 2012 5:14 PM

        I love you and want you to be my daughter. Because if I had a daughter she would be just like you.

  44. interventionista permalink
    October 12, 2012 7:25 PM

    Absolutely hysterical! Please come back and keep posting more stuff! I just found you thanks to thoughts appear and it’s heartbreaking to think you’re already gone! If you come back I’ll share the story of Fred from The B-52’s running from my 5yr old self like I was a zombie!

  45. Ruth Smith permalink
    December 5, 2012 7:54 AM


  46. meganbestoffates permalink
    January 10, 2013 5:21 PM

    I miss you like ghosts miss corporal form. Unless that ghost is a pervert. Then the whole losing the body thing was really quite a lucky break. I MISS YOU MORE THAN A NON-KINKY GHOST.

    • January 10, 2013 8:08 PM

      Aww, shucks. I miss you, too. And writing. A whole lot. But I hope to be back again someday, like Frosty. Or a ghost with a grudge.

  47. Tyler J. Yoder permalink
    July 29, 2013 4:17 AM

    That photo of Jenny – that’s not from the Seattle stop on that tour, is it? Probably they just have similar displays and shelves. At any rate, when I met her, I proposed marriage and kind of threatened/offered to off her husband to make sure that we could marry. I’m not even attracted to women, but apparently meeting the Bloggess makes me into a murderingly awkward heterosexual, suddenly. I hope this helps your surgery (that has probably already healed).

  48. October 23, 2013 2:08 PM

    Hello Teva and Isabel! (oh, and Jessica, I guess)
    This is my first comment, since it takes me a very long time to type with paws. However, I’m a big fan of your blog, particularly since I’m a blogging cat myself. I’m ticked to present you with the Dragon’s Loyalty Award. Pick it up at my site, Franny’s Film Forum, anytime. 🙂
    With the appropriate feline ennui masking enthusiasm,
    Franny the cat

  49. December 13, 2013 1:11 AM

    Hey There,

    I’ve nominated your blog for a Liebster Award. You can check out the details on my blog at this link:

    Congratulations! X

  50. I am Reptard permalink
    February 16, 2014 1:04 AM

    Come back… I miss you and your writing so much!!

  51. April 22, 2014 2:32 PM

    Hilarious. I know exactly how you felt. This is why I’d rather admire those I am in the habit of admiring from a distance 😉


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